Back when we were daydreaming about our month in San Diego, Chris brought up the idea of Disneyland as a possible adventure. My desire to go to the happiest place on earth with Conor was pretty much zero so I told him that he could take Ryan. Then we searched ticket prices and found out that the place of happy is also insanely expensive so we nixed the idea faster than you can say supercalifragelisticexpialidocious (I just typed that out and then looked it up to see if my spelling was correct and hey! day made).
However, the other day my sister-in-law's mom called with the news that she providentially had access to two free tickets to Disneyland! As a result, most of day was a second child date day, just me and Conor.
My favorite part came after a morning of him putzing around the yard while I worked. He was just done, done, done with giving me space both physically and mentally so I wisely decided to put the pen down and replaced the pen with a sweet boy who now has a neck.
What to do became the question, and blackberries were the answer. I grabbed a medium size metal bowl for myself and a small metal bowl for his tiny hands with which he promptly began making a clammer. I let him walk and sometimes he kept up, but sometimes he fell behind with his feet shuffling on the dirt path simultaneously quickly and slowly. "Bay-ees! Bay-ees!" he chirped announcing what we were going to pick. When he wasn't chirping, he would purse his lips in a smile.
We arrived at the blackberry bush that unfortunately has grown better on the neighbor's side of the fence, and he started plucking the berries somehow surprisingly. Two black ripe berries for every red unripe berry. He's either a genius or colorblind. Judging from the fact that Chris vehemently argued recently that our inarguably brown couch was black, possibly the latter. Conor's pursed lips were blackberry red with impatient evidence and his chubby, dimply hands matched.
It was a good time. Maybe I'll make some blackberry cobbler tonight.